


Magnetic Fields

by Eternalistic (Telemnara)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Canon Universe, Dominance, Flirting, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kinks, M/M, Public sex kind of, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, did I mention kinks?, like a lot, written mostly for smut but plot is also there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telemnara/pseuds/Eternalistic
Summary: “Hey, scrawny boy,” I hear a very familiar voice.“I've got a name,” I say not turning around.“Really?” he asks with a mockery in his tone. “Are you sure about that, Q.?”“Yes, I am,” I turn to face Bond, standing just two feet away from me.“Then tell me,” he smirks, slightly leaning forward.That sounds almost like a dare.





	Magnetic Fields

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lessandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lessandra/gifts).



> I regret nothing. Even my awful English.

There are people whom I define as ordinary. There are also those who are not ordinary, but quickly understandable. And finally there are those who give you a feeling that they will surprise you one day. That's what I felt when I met Agent 007.

At first it seems that there is nothing special about him – nothing special for a _secret agent_ , I mean. But then he glances at you or says something and you understandd that there's more to him than meets the eye. That is both interesting and annoying. Annoying, because I can't get to the core of him. And here I should note that there are two things which surround me most of the time – technology and not ordinary men. So I think I have a right to say that I am good at understanding people. At comprehending _how_ _they work_.

Why am I telling you this?

Maybe because he has already surprised me, when he deciphered the code to get the access to Silva's computer. I am sure that in a minute I would've found the right password too, but that is  _my_ _job_ to perform such tricks and I have some practice. It turned out that Silva wanted us to find the password, but it doesn't change anything. The moment the security system failed Bond was already running after Silva. He did his job well – I screwed up. He asked me to create a trail that only Silva could follow, and I tried to do my best. And now they are in Scotland and all we can do is wait.

I should say that it is rather tiresome to watch a small dot called “Bond” on a map of Great Britain. So maybe – just _maybe_ – running after criminals and shooting is at least a bit more interesting.

I feel that I'm nearly dozing off, but suddenly Tanner elbows me in the ribs. I see that the dot is more to the south than it has been before. It could mean a million things, but the one I hope for is that he and M are getting out of that godforsaken place. We keep watching and the next hour proves that Bond or someone with his radio is moving really slowly as if on foot. The dot reaches Glencoe and then there is another hour of nothing. But suddenly the dot begins to move much faster. The only thought that crosses my mind is that this presumable _“Bond”_ has taken a car. I begin calculating. He will get to Glasgow in about two hours. If that is not Bond and M but Silva then we can miss him. The nearest helicopter base was in Galloway Hills – that means we have just enough time to get whoever it is if everything goes right. We can do that.

 **Doubtless**.

**~10th of May**

The thought of having a new M. is... _strange_. The whole operation with Silva was meant to save her life, but now she is dead. But the thing is – I don't think of all those events as an operation. It is pure life – the most complex algorithm which I still can't fathom.

So let's leave all those fabrications to the philosophers and get back to that very life we're speaking about. I am sitting at the round table in the conference-hall of our new base, which has not yet become our home. There are other members of MI6 from different branches. And then there is Bond. He is leaning back in his chair with a sad smirk on his face. All this procedure is insufferable and I feel sick. I have nothing to say about M. except she got the job done till the very end. I think that all other words are meaningless. When I glance at 007 it seems to me that he has the same feelings. Maybe we are less different than he thinks we are.

After the whole assemblage is over I hurry to my office – I have some job to finish before I can go home and finally get some sleep. The last week happened to be really exhaustive. When I walk down the hall I hear someone's steps.

“Hey, scrawny boy,” I hear a very familiar voice.

“I've got a _name_ ,” I say not turning around.

“Really?” he asks with a mockery in his tone. “Are you sure about that, _Q._?”

“Yes, I am,” I turn to face Bond, standing just two feet away from me.

“Then tell me,” he smirks, slightly leaning forward. That sounds almost like a dare. Just for a second I consider the possibility of telling him the truth in order to shock him, but catch myself in time.

“My name is Q., Double O Seven,” I know it is a weak retort, but another thing about Bond is that he somehow slows my brain functions.

I think this is due to the fact that my brain is trying too hard to impress him. Bond thinks I am too young to be a Q. and I want to prove him wrong. But maybe he is right after all – proving something to somebody _is_ childish. Well, at least I am honest with myself.

He just smirks one more time and continues on his way, nudging me with his shoulder. That is really annoying.

“When are you going to give the pistol and the radio back?” I hear my own voice. It seems that my subliminal consciousness doesn't want to stop these interactions.

“The pistol has proved to be rather useful,” Bond answers from a distance. “But I advise you to work more on those... _tools_ of yours.”

**Dis...concerting.**

**~13th of May**

I am surprised when he comes to our department three days later. He is dressed in a perfect suit like always and looks inscrutable. Like always. 

“Skinny boy,” he calls. I pretend that I don't hear him. “You, young genius, I brought you something.”

“You are getting better, Double O Seven,” I praise him in the most condescending tone I can muster and turn around just in time to see his slightly surprised face. “What have you brought?”

 _“Catch!”_ He throws something to me and I manage to catch the object. He smirks. “You're getting better, too.”

“You just don't know me well, Mr. Bond. I have lots of secrets.”

And suddenly I realize how flirtatious that sounds. I glance sideways – everyone is watching us curiously. I glance back at Bond. He looks suddenly serious.

“I'm more than sure that you have lots of secrets in that geek mind of yours,” his tone is all-business, “and I need your mind to find out what that thing you're holding is.”

I gaze at the device in my hands – it looks like a hybrid of a cell phone, a flash-card and a lighter. I know one thing that looks like that.

“It is a transmitter HI-90 or so called _Hermes_ ,” I say, adopting his serious tone.

“Is it some kind of a flash-media?” he asks approaching me slowly, brows furrowed and sight fixed on a gadget.

“Not so much,” I raise my hand a bit keeping my palm open so that he could take a better look at the transmitter. “It is programmed to transfer data from one computer to another via satellite at an incredibly high speed. Some are also programmed to _erase_ the transferred data from its original source.”

He leans, raises his hand and touches the device, slightly brushing my palm with his fingers. I take a sharp breath involuntarily. He pauses and glances at me without moving his head. I don't know what I look like, but I hope my expression is unemotional. He raises an eyebrow as if in fascination and then a small but genuine smile creeps upon his face.

“Where did you get this thing?” I actually manage to sound calm.

“On a mission.” Like that is not obvious. “I assure you, it didn't make any progress in doing harm.”

“Who would doubt that,” I say quietly and take an opportunity to examine Bond's face while he is so close. He looks... _not young_. I don't know his age, but he surely is at least 10 years older than me. His eyes are the eyes of a confident man and together with his wrinkles they make him look like an intellectual. Not that he is not smart, but you know what I mean. But his body and movements are not of a scholar or a scientist. They belong to a soldier.

“Q.?” he snaps me out of my trance. “Are you with me?”

“Um, yes, sorry – sleep deprivation.” I hope he believes me. “So what do I need to do with this transmitter after I 'study it thoroughly'? I hope you – _non-scientists_ – will learn one day what a proper order should look like.”

“All complaints to M.,” he laughs. “I was not given any orders except to bring this thing to you. I'm sure you'll get them later from someone more competent. For now you can keep it.”

And with these words he takes my hand into his and with another hand he curls my fingers around the transmitter. Then he smiles again and slowly walks away, while I am standing there dumbfounded.

**Awkward.**

**Author's Note:**

> I've written some chapters of this work a few years ago and I'd like to know whether I should continue it or not. Please, advise!


End file.
